


In the Forest

by LibraStar96



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Character Study, Mystery Trio AU, Slight Fiddleford/Stanford, Written before big reveal so Stanley is referred to as Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:19:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraStar96/pseuds/LibraStar96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mystery Trio Au character study written before the Author reveal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 8

Down in the forest

We’ll sing a chorus

Hands held higher

We’ll be on fire

Singing songs that nobody wrote

\- Twenty-One Pilots

Stanley had never thought that the woods were a place to fear. He was a naturally adventurous child, often found either digging in the sand on the nearby beach or pretending to be a wilderness explorer with his twin Stanford, and generally getting into all kinds of trouble. However Stanley was not a very outspoken child of seven, in fact he hardly spoke at all. For all his imagined adventures and boundless curiosity Stanley was a painfully shy child, the only one he spoke to with any casualness was his twin brother and even then he still was not a boy of many words. He made his observations in the through and precise way; one would solve a difficult math problem or plan a complicatedly huge public even. He though in words and charts, in the dependable turning of the Earth, and in the steady beating of his heart. This trait made him a bit of an introvert, one more comfortable in observation than direct involvement, which did not make him many friends and tended to leave him vulnerable to the playground bullies.

            Stanley had not been in school very long this year, and was already the constant target of the playground ruffians. There are always those children that you can single out as the future harassers at an early age. No matter where you may be, there are always those ready to prey on the weak, and poor Stanley and his brother Stanford found themselves constant victims. Stanford, being as small and puny looking as his brother was targeted as much as his brother, but his problem was of an opposite nature than Stanley’s. Stanford didn’t know when to stop talking, and sometimes what he said was not entirely kind.

Their mother despaired of the both of them, often stating aloud that together they would have made a decent socially active child but in two bodies they were hopeless. Their father, who like Stanley did not speak often, didn’t seem to disagree with her either. It would have been a very lonely existence for the both of them if they hadn’t had each other. Fortunately for them though, they did have one another, and clung to each other fast while trying to navigate the sea of life they had been unceremoniously thrown into.

If you have a close sibling, older or younger, you know just how comforting it is to have that love and support with you in you everyday life. You feel its presence like a strong hand resting on your shoulder, feel the intimacy of it like the brush of a dragonfly wing on your cheek, and you are never without it. The brothers were one entity that moved with single thought and spoke with single voice. Stanley never needed to struggle for words around his brother and Stanford felt to need to spew his usual word vomit. Words were never needed and it was in this way the two navigated the second grade and the event that happened in that time, that changed their perception of the imagined and real forever.

 

……………………………………………….

 

            It was getting late and the boys were still lost. The brothers had gone off after school to explore the forest that grew around their home. This being a common thing for them to do the boys didn’t think about where they were going and never considered, with all the childhood naivety it entailed, that they would get lost in the thick foliage and looming trees. So it felt like a horrible betrayal when they found themselves hopelessly lost in such a previously familiar and safe surrounding after straying from the path for a time.

“S-Stanford”, Stanley forced the words from between his teeth, afraid of making too much sound in the ominous wood. “ Are you _sure_ this is the right way home I don’t recognize anything?”

“Come on bro’”, came Stanford’s miffed reply; “if you’re going to whine the whole time I’m going to leave you behind”.

            Of course the both of them knew that would never happen but acting aggressive Stanford’s way of dealing with stress like how overanalyzing was Stanley’s.

            They wandered for what felt like forever, feet growing sore from constant movement and shoes that didn’t fit quite right. How were they going to get out of here? Their parents would be so angry if they missed dinner. What if their parents were so angry they just decided to let them stay lost and have one kid who was better at making friends? Worst of all, what if they never found their way back home _ever_?

Once the sun began descending, dying the forest in an inky blackness that seemed to follow them more and more determinedly as they struggled to find their way out, the both of them began to feel the onset of panic. Neither school, nor their parents had prepared them for this feeling of hopelessness that settled onto them. They had grabbed each others hands at some point but neither cared. Eventually huddling by a log as darkness swallowed them. They had definitely missed dinner and no search party had come. They were all alone.

“Stan?” Stanley’s voice was soft but clear in the forest night air.

“Yeah Lee?”

“We have each other. We always promised no matter what happened, we would be okay if we were together remember?”

“Yeah… yeah you’re right.” Stanford stood dragging Stanley up by the hand and when he next spoke he used his adventurer voice. “What are we doing? We can make it out of here if we stick together. Come on bro we got this just don’t let go.”

However, before they could set out Stanley felt something akin to an electric current zing down his spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end and as he blinked, a sort of blue light flashed in his vision momentarily blinding the both of them. They both screamed in shock and pain as their eyes tried to recover from the abrupt sensory overload, and stood back to back so as to not lose each other. Stanley could have sworn he heard the faint sound of wind chimes and smelled wet earth. One his eyes readjusted Stanley let out a gasp of shock and wonder as he observed a circle of floating blue lights around them, lighting the forest with an ethereal glow, as though they were made of the light of the moon.

“What… what are they?” Stanford stared in horrified wonder at what his eyes were showing him. Stanley wasn’t sure what they were but if he had to make a guess.

“ Some form of tree sprits maybe, or will-o-the-wisps.”

“ That’s stupid Stanley those are fairy tales”

“ You’re not supposed to use that word and no it’s not!”

“Yes it is!”

“Well you asked dummy! What do you think they are then?”

Stanley, who had been about to reply with a retort, fell silent at the question. He didn’t know what to make of the situation and he supposed any explanation was better than none.

“Well what do we do then? Will they hurt us if we move?”

Stanley racked his brain for any ideas. Honestly he didn’t know what to do and didn’t know what Stanford though he had all the answers, he wasn’t _that_ smart. Pushing aside his thoughts, Stanford tried to remember what his fairy tale books said about dealing with nature spirits but could only remember something about not killing things or risk becoming a tree. His name was already Pines, he didn’t want to be more tree than that. He should have a journal to write all this information in.

“ I think… if we ask nicely, they might show us they way back”. Stanley couldn’t be sure but it was worth a try, and deep in the forest, ears filled with musical chiming and watching the bobbing blue lights, he felt like a real adventurer, someone bigger than he was used to.

“ You sure they wont eat us?”

“ I don’t think they have mouths.”

Stanley took a deep breath and stepped towards one of the pulsing lights and took a chance.

“ Hello… we’re, um, sorry for disturbing you. Would you be able to show us they way out please? We just want to get home, we don’t want to hurt any plants.” Explaining the lack of wishing harm to the foliage seemed the most important thing to emphasize at that time.

The lights didn’t move for a moment, but, just before he could get nervous, the orbs formed a line and, with the movements like that of a snake, began weaving a way through the forest slowly enough for the boys to easily follow. It was in this way that the two of them emerged from the darkness of the woods, following the woven light of the moon.

……………………….

 

“You were right. As long as we’re together, we can do anything.”

“Promise we’ll always help each other, even if we’re angry or had a fight?”

“Promise Stanley, I’d miss you if you were gone. Who would get me out of trouble then?”


	2. Age 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that an outdated Slenderman insert? I think it is.

When I awoke

The moon still hung.

The night so black that the darkness hummed

 

I raised myself.

My legs were weak.

I prayed my mind be good to me.

 

 -In The Woods Somewhere

Hozier

 

****

 

Journal Entry #47

_“ It moves with a certain grace and precision unnatural given its height and length of limb. That is, if you can catch it in movement. The creature has no face as in; it has no features, almost giving off the impression of some sort of mask. The creature is humanoid in appearance but is definitely, in no way, human. It’s arms reach all the way down to the ground, impressive considering the creature’s towering height. It appears to wear some kind of suit but at the ends of its legs and arms it seems to blend in with the skin leading me to believe the appearance of clothing to be some bizarre form of camouflage. I will state in this, my official record of this creature with no shame, that this is probably the most horrifying creature I have ever encountered, and the reason is indefinable. It moves silently and terrifyingly quickly, so that in the blink of an eye, it can be in a completely different spot than before. I have finally been able to gather enough information to know that the local children who have disappeared were all last seen heading towards the forest. The idea that I may have found the creature responsible both thrills and frightens me but regardless, I have to learn more to know how to defeat it. I’m heading out tonight in hopes of obtaining more information.”_

_-Stanley Pines_

.....................

 

 

            “And just what do you think you’re doing?” The gruff voice that had seemingly come out of nowhere made Stanley jump in shock.

“Holy Shit!” he quietly exclaimed (his dad would have boxed his ears for that one), “Are you _trying_ to kill me?” Stanford Pines leaned back in the chair he occupied, apparently having been waiting for a chance to ambush his brother, looked unbothered by his brother’s dramatics.

“Nah, with the way you’ve been going, you’re doing that just fine on your own”, he leaned forward, his eyes as intent as they were annoyed, and demanded, “So, back to the question, what do you think you’re doing trying to sneak through the kitchen and out the back door dressed like you’re going camping at 1:00 am on a Monday?” This just wasn’t fair. He had been extremely quiet and Stanford NEVER stayed up this late on a Monday an absolute constant until now! He must have been acting suspicious of something. He didn’t care, he decided, he had a mission and he wasn’t going to let his stupid brother bully him out of it.

“It’s none of your business Stanford. Don’t you have some girl to think about or some dummy to punch?”

“Ha ha, Stanley, where are you going?”

“Why do you care? Leave me alone!”

“You’re going after some weird monster again aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?”

“Oh my- you’re such an idiot!” Stanford exclaimed standing up from his place at the kitchen table where he had been sitting. Far from being intimidated (which he was sure was what Stanford had hoped for), his exclamation only further angered Stanley.

“I’m not stupid Stanford and you can’t stop me so just shut up and get out of my way.” He adjusted his grip on his satchel and made to open the door.

“Like hell I can’t. I’ll call dad.”

“You’re full of shit, he’d yell at you too for being up this late fully clothed.”

“You can’t keep going out looking for all that weird crap, you’re going to get seriously hurt.”

“You’re not in charge of me and I can take care of myself. What, you think because you kept going with dads boxing lessons you’re the only one who can handle themselves?”

“Well, those puny noodle arms sure aren’t doing you any favors. You look like a stick with pimples. It’s not my fault you were too much of a wimp to keep up.” Stanley’s face flushed bright red in shame and fury as his free hand formed a fist so tight it turned his knuckles white. He wasn’t as buff as Stanford, but he wasn’t weak either. Hunting and chasing (and running away from) monsters in the woods, with all the hiking that entailed had given him some padding, but his was a more lean muscularity. He still remembered how to throw a left hook pretty well but he knew Stanford would win the overall fight, they would get caught, and his perfect opportunity of stopping the creature any time soon would be lost. He took a deep breath and looked his brother in the eye.

“You’re not easy on the eyes either mister waist high belt and we have the same skin issues dummy. Twins remember?” he added bitterly. Then he sighed and shook his head. “ I _have_ to find this thing and find a way to get rid of it. I am almost completely convinced that this is what has been stealing all those kids, you know, like Sarah’s sister. If I can find a way to stop it not only will I stop the disappearances but I might find the others too.” He could feel his voice beginning to rise to the point where it might wake their parents but he made no effort to stop it, he had to make Stanford understand. “ So yeah, duh it’s dangerous but arguably so is boxing for your brain. I need to do this.” Stanford stared hard at him. His face was void of expression but Stanley could almost hear the argument going on in his brother’s head. Call dad or stay? He didn’t exactly remember when Stanford had turned into the kind of ass that would tattletale on him to dad (probably when his voice started changing) but he prayed, just once, let Stanford leave well enough alone.

“Fine.” Stanley blinked.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah you gotta do what you gotta do right?” Stanford shrugged his broadening shoulders in a gesture of nonchalance.

“Yeah that’s what I’m saying.” He couldn’t believe his good luck!

“We both don’t wanna hear about any more missing kids, so even if it means facing some dangerous monster no one else but you has a real chance of learning enough about it to guess how to defeat it.”

“Yes! Thank you! I knew you listened every one in a while. It’s not safe but it’s completely necessary.”

“Exactly”, Stanford nodded, a determined expression on his face, “that’s why I’m going with you.” There was a record scratch in Stanford’s mind as his thoughts did a double take.

“What?” he asked, thinking (praying) he must have misheard his brother.

“I’m going with you.” Nope dammit his hearing was fine.

“Why?” Stanley demanded feeling indignant. “I don’t need your help.”

“That’s debatable”, Stanford replied in an unbothered tone as he pulled on his sneakers. “We’ve double teamed hunts before, not like this is a new thing.” Stanford finished tying his shoes and shouldered a bag Stanley had not noticed until then. The jerk had come prepared!

“ We haven’t done this kind of thing together for almost a year.”

“No time like the present to pick up old habits.”

“I could just ditch you.” Stanley exclaimed in exasperation.

“ And I could just call dad. I’m not letting you do this by yourself.”

“Why not? Why do you care all of the sudden? It’s not like you’ve cared recently. Wouldn’t your friends think it was lame to do this?” The way Stanley said the word ‘friends’; you could practically see the air quotes.

“I don’t tell them everything. Now, are you going to just stand there like an idiot arguing with me or are you going to get going while there’s still moonlight?”

He really didn’t have any choice did he? He really hated his brother sometimes.

“Fine, just don’t slow me down or I’ll leave you behind.”

They both knew that was a lie.

 

…….

           

Thank God it was early May, meaning the weather had stopped trying to kill them all with subzero temperatures. Stanford adjusted his glasses as he walked about a pace behind his brother who was leading them both deeper and deeper into the wood. They had abandoned the main path a while ago and (though he would never admit it) Stanford had always admired how his brother had learned to navigate the place so well.

_“It’s not like you’ve cared recently.”_

            He didn’t know when it had started (probably when his voice started changing if he was being honest), but that accusation from his brother had made him realize that he had been growing pretty far apart from his brother over the past school year. They had been inseparable since they had been born and had only grown closer once the monster hunting had started, which had lasted, at least for Stanford, until junior high. They had gained a sort of confidence in themselves after they faced their first troll (roughly age 11) and in junior high seemed to come into their own as first class mischief makers. They were the pest prank-pulling duo the school had ever seen. They were familiar enough with one another they didn’t need to speak to coordinate a plan and their sense of humor was always funny without being cruel to the recipient making the teachers and staff both exasperated as well as amused with the brothers. The other students certainly enjoyed watching the new pranks they would come up with during the week.

Of course, what the adults didn’t know was that the humor was a defense mechanism. The bullying hadn’t stopped, even into their first year of high school. It was never extremely violent (a welcome blessing) but it wore on them and assured that neither would be let into any of the defined social circles of their school no matter how funny they were. It was rough but they had had each other, so it had been bearable.

            Then their dad had signed the both of them up for boxing lessons as some sort of tough-love way of trying to make his boys able to handle the outside world that seemed so set against them. At first it hadn’t done much except get them soundly beaten on a regular basis after school in front of their dad who just had to go to each practice. Stanley would often retreat to the back bleacher after his session was over and hide his bruised face behind one of the heavy tomes he would bring with him. Stanford had been as miserable as his brother. The first two months of the lessons, getting as bruised as Stanley but fuming about it instead of hiding behind written words. Then, at the end of that two-month mark, something had changed for Stanford.

            Billy Schultz was the biggest bully in the school. Heavy, loud, and covered in emerging muscles and freckles, the kid was essentially a scary giant that dominated the halls of their high school, trampling anyone or anything that got in his way.

Or if he simply didn’t like you.

Or if it was a Tuesday.

The best part of the story was that Billy was also taking boxing lessons and seemed to take an extra amount of perverse pleasure in pairing off with each Pines twin and beating them down into a bloody mess.

            The change occurred for Stanford the day that Billy had been more of an asshole than usual. Stanley had been shoved one too many times into the lockers it seemed and just snapped. He thought up a prank and, after only a little convincing for Stanford, proceeded to pull it on Billy in what seemed to be a deep rooted death wish. Honestly it hadn’t even been harmful (unless glue was suddenly fatal to locker doors), but of course Billy had exploded and known exactly who had done it. They were the only ones who would ever dare, but for the rest of the day they felt rising dread for that evenings boxing lessons.

As it turned out, there had been a good reason for that dread. It was all a blur for the beginning of the practice but sharp clarity had found its way to Stanford’s mind and memory as he found himself pinned to the mat by a raging Billy who was doing his best to knock Stanford’s teeth out and was mocking him cruelly.

“God you’re pathetic. You and your geek brother.” Stanford tried his best to twist out of Billy’s vice grip but only got a hit landing his on his cheekbone for the effort.

“Nice try wimp. When I’m done with you I’m going to make the other one cry. Neither of you are going to get away with making of joke of me.” He smirked cruelly “ How hard do you think it would be to break one of his little noodle arms?” Stanley’s worried face had flashed through Stanford’s and he thought about how internally strong but physically less so Stanley was and he found that, more than anything in the world, he wanted to make sure Billy never touched his brother again. So he did the only thing he could do; he found his reason and fought back.

“Left hook!” the shout left him without any real thought or notice but the feeling of the fist that connected with Billy’s face would be forever seared into Stanford’s memory.

He beat the snot out of Billy that day, the motivation of protecting his brother driving him the whole time. After practice their father drove them home without a word but that night, before Stanford had gone to bed, his father ruffled his hair and gave him a nod of approval. Stanley had talked nonstop all the next day about how awesome it was seeing him get back at Billy and teasingly asked if he hadn’t found some new plant in the forest without him that caused muscle growth and if he had he’d better share. Stanford had resolved to not tell Stanley how he had found the motivation to fight back. His brother would take it as Stanford thinking he was weak and no amount of explanation on Stanford’s part would change his mind but oddly enough Stanley never asked. It became his own secret memory. His dad was proud of him, his clever and collected brother was looking at him like he was a hero, and he couldn’t have been happier.

            Then came the night at the movie theatre about a week later, and Stanford found that it _was_ possible for him to be happier. Carla McCorkle was the most beautiful girl in the whole school by far and the general population agreed. She was full of optimism and mischief, kindness and boldness, and was a true rebel of her time. She pushed the boundaries of the society she lived in for the sake of what she believed, wearing pants on a regular basis and declaring that she was going to have a professional career while her husband stayed at home with their children. Yet, she had that “it” factor that made her boldness interesting and admirable and the more she moved through life the more people that ended up following her. To Stanford’s dismay she was completely unobtainable. She was beautiful, liked, and confident, essentially, she was everything he wasn’t. Then something changed.

            Stanford had been in line for the movie theatre by himself that night (Stanley had been uninterested in film Stanford had chosen) so he had found himself going to the late night showing of _Grandpa the Kid_ without company. He had been perfectly fine to stand in the line for his ticket until, much to his surprise and mounting panic, Carla stood in line behind him. It was one of the rare occasions she wore a skirt and the sight of her alone and so dolled up caused Stanford’s heart to speed up and his palms to sweat. He desperately wanted to say something to her, anything at all, but then he caught a reflection of himself in a nearby store window, baby fat, ache, and high pants, and all possible conversation starters got caught in his throat. He was kidding himself. Then that guy had tried to steal her purse and hearing her call for help with no one coming forward he found a motivation of a different kind, and his fist connected with the would be thief’s jaw.

            He had been rewarded with a kiss from Carla as well as her undivided attention for the rest of the night, and a rise in popularity. He was respected now, more people talked to him, and he was invited to things and with that had started to feel the warm security of acceptance, something he had only really experienced with his brother. Speaking of his brother, even while Stanford’s popularity had grown Stanley had been left behind, people seeming to forget that Stanford had a brother at all. He certainly didn’t get picked on anymore but was really just generally ignored by the student body, never really invited to join in with the crowd Stanford had found himself moving in. Stanford hadn’t though much of it though, given his brother’s naturally introverted nature he assumed his brother preferred it that way. Stanford had had little previous experience with having a social circle and stared, without conscious thought, to spend a majority of his time with his new friends and excessively less with his brother rather suddenly. Stanley was being left behind and was unable to do much to change it (that didn’t compromise his pride).

            Stanford supposed, in retrospect, that he should have made sure that Stanley was okay instead of assuming he would rather be alone.

_“It’s not like you’ve cared recently.”_

He flinched as the accusation blazed through his memory causing him to stumble over a tree root. He had been enjoying his social life over the past several months, it’s not like he had been doing anything wrong, it was completely healthy for him to hang out with people other than his twin. Still, it had always been the two of them and Stanford reflected that he had kind of been flat out ignoring his brother. For the first time Stanley wasn’t in on Stanford’s inside jokes anymore, and he had stopped exploring the forest with him in favor of staying after school with his group at the local diner or bowling alley. In fact, when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last full conversation he had had with his brother before their confrontation earlier. He also realized, with mounting shame that he couldn’t remember one time he invited Stanley to come with him and meet the people he was spending so much time with and Stanley was too proud to ask.

            They had started to grow apart but the easy and natural in which it had happened was what truly frightened Stanford. They were so close they finished each other’s sentences, could speak to each other with a few looks, and would always know how to help the other. Always a team had been their promise when they were little, but when you’re so young, you don’t and can’t comprehend what “always” means. You were filled with the firm belief that if you really wanted something the length of time discussed didn’t matter. Then life starts to happen and you begin to realize that time is a force that matters more than you thought and makes your resolve a heavier burden with each ticking hand of the clock, no matter how strongly you believed. Stanford looked at the back of Stanley’s head and felt like there was a hole in his chest at the thought that one day his brother might be a stranger to him. Stanley’s life wouldn’t pause while Stanford wasn’t around, would still grow and learn and change. The thought of missing growing _with_ his brother, of losing their closeness of secret codes, coordinated pranks (another thing they hadn’t done in forever), and stability in one another made it hard for him to breath. He hadn’t been a very good brother lately had he? He had forgotten that it was his brother that had given him the resolve to fight back in the first place.

“You’re being _really_ quiet Stan what’s up? I mean I usually can’t get you to shut up.” Stanley was trying to cover his concern with a tone of nonchalance causing the miserable feeling in Stanford to grow heavier.

“Shouldn’t we be quiet so the creep monster you’re so intent on finding has a harder time finding and killing us?”

“To be fair I’m not sure if it _can_ hear.”

“Then how does it navigate since it doesn’t, you know, have a face?” Stanley glanced back at him in surprise.

“How did you know that?” Stanford gave a small laugh at that and looked down slightly embarrassed.

“You leave your journal lying around sometimes, I get curious.”

“You could have asked you know.”

“Yeah.” Stanford paused and decided his pride was only worth so much. “Hey, um, I just wanted to say that… I’m sorry.” Stanley came to a full stop after Stanford had spoken and turned around, flashlight in hand, to stare fully at his brother with a look of weariness and surprise on his face.

“Okay first, and I’m only partially joking when I say this, who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Stanford gave a small snort as Stanley continued. “ Secondly, I mean… you can read the journal Stan, you kind of helped find a majority of the stuff in there, it’s really just the last few entries you wouldn’t recognize.”

“That’s my point though.” Dang it he going to have to make this a _thing_ to convey his message. “ I _should_ know what those entry’s are because I should have _been_ there with you.”

“Look Stan I already told you I can handle myself fine.” Oh no, indignant tone surfacing, backtracking.

“ That’s not what I meant Lee.”

“ Then what? You’re staring to babble.” Stanford sighed and ran the palms of his hands down his face.

“I’m trying to say that I know I haven’t been around like, at all lately and I’m sorry. You’re my brother, and just because I made some friends doesn’t mean I can just ignore you.” When he looked back up at Stanley, his brother was wearing a drawn and slightly uncomfortable expression as he shifted his weight, studying the ground like it was fascinating.

“I…um…appreciate that Stan,” his eyes darted around and his posture was stiff and awkward, “but you don’t have to hang out with me because you feel bad. I like being alone, I think better.” It was then that Stanley finally looked directly at him with resigned eyes. “ I’m glad you found a crowd I mean, at least one of us needs to be somewhat normal. You can hang out with your friends all that you want man; it’s your life and it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. You don’t need to be worried about me.” No, that wasn’t right either. He wasn’t apologizing for getting friends he was apologizing for leaving his best friend behind. Damn it why couldn’t he just say what he felt? Whoever said emotional stuff was only for girls was full of shit.

“Look, Lee, what I’m trying to say is that I actually-”

“Quiet!” The conversation came to an end as Stanley abruptly crouched and shot his hand up palm first, his eyes on some point behind his brother’s head. The pale horrified expression that had come over his face after a moment was kind of freaking Stanford out.

“Lee?”

“Don’t-“ Stanley whispered as he slowly leaned toward him. “Don’t speak. Stay still.” Stanford suddenly felt all the hair on his neck stand on end as his mind was filled with what sounded, for the entire world, like white noise.

He hated the forest.

“It’s right behind me isn’t it?”

“What parts of ‘don’t speak’ do you not- shit RUN!!” Stanley suddenly sprang into action; grabbing Stanford’s hand and yanking him forward just as Stanford felt the strap of his bag get severed and fall off his shoulder. That was way to close. The boys ran for their lives, afraid to look back and just aware enough through their haze of adrenaline that they could see where they were going well enough to know they were getting themselves lost. Panic was pounding through his veins as he bounded through he foliage, feeling the fight or flight sensation he often got during an intense boxing match. He realized that even though he had lots of experience in monster hunting with his brother, he could not remember ever feeling this terrified before. It was like the creature exuded fear, but Stanford knew they couldn’t stop, if they stopped they were dead.

            A loud crunching sound and muffled grunt caused Stanford to come to a screeching halt. Stanley was sprawled out on the ground, his glasses askew, and journal just out of his reach with his foot caught in the raised root of a tree. Stanford immediately turned around, dropped to the ground, and tried to dig the limb out but in the dark and with shaking hands it was useless.

“It’s coming Stan.”

“I can’t move!”

“Just get out of here, it’ll get you run!”

“Not without you!” The white noise was filling his mind again; they were running out of time.

“I’ll be right back!”

Stanford scrambled away from his brother and began to frantically feel around on the ground for a rock, a stick, anything that could be used as a weapon, that freak wasn’t taking Stanley as long as he was around to fight it. When he looked back, the creature was on Stanley bent over him and Stanford could only watch in horror as one of its impossibly long arms grabbed Stanley’s leg and yanked his foot free of the root. Stanford’s turned back to the ground, his heart pounding, and his hands closed around a fallen tree branch just as a sickening cracking sound followed by Stanley’s agonized screams echoed through the air.

When he was able to look at the scene before him Stanford almost let out a scream himself. The creature had Stanley by the leg, leaving him dangling upside down but that wasn’t the worst of it. The only thing Stanford could compare what he was witnessing to was watching Stanley slowly be turned into TV static. His whole body would become a silhouette of static and then flip back to normal. Now Stanford was beyond horrified, but, clutching the branch tightly in his hands, he still carried out the only resulting action for the scenario.

“Let go if him!” he didn’t care if the creature could hear him or not the yell left him all the same. The thing made no move to drop Stanley who was trying in vain to hit it’s body, his fists passing through it like it was made of air and coming back stained black. Right, can’t touch its body, that wasn’t where he was aiming anyway. With a wordless cry Stanford swung the branch at the things blank head, connecting soundly and throwing the creature off enough that that it dropped Stanley on his head causing the boy to grunt on impact before he gathered himself and began to crawl away. The monster recollected itself and Stanford got the horrible feeling that he had only succeeded in making it angry. He didn’t know how to fight this thing, he couldn’t use his fists and they couldn’t get any help which meant that, as the creature reached for him, Stanford Pines knew his luck had run out.

“Get down!” Stanford obeyed his brother’s order without hesitation, throwing himself on the forest floor, pine needles filling his nose with their scent and piercing his hands as he did so. There was a sudden flash of light followed by a long unearthly screech and then, dead silence. Once Stanford had arrived at the conclusion that he wasn’t going to die after all (at least for now) and dared to look up again, he saw his brother swaying on his feet (favoring one over the other) in front of him at the spot where the creature had been moments before. He was clutching his (was that smoke coming off of it?) journal between his six fingered, and what appeared to be ink-stained hands.

“What-?” it was hard to try to form sentences at the moment, “What happened?” Stanley, who was panting harshly like he had run a marathon (or fought a monster) answered between gasping breaths,

“When I hit it, it left ink on my hands (so his hands really _were_ ink-stained) and it was trying to grab you and I had picked up my journal and I had to stop it so I thought…” he trailed off trying to regulate his breath.

“You thought you would hit it with paper.”

“Yeah it sounds stupid but I wasn’t really thinking too much about it.”

“It’s genius! I mean it’s crazy but this whole thing is! I mean we’re alive aren’t we?” Stanley responded with a small but pained smile and Stanley made a move to get up and support his brother, that ankle was probably broken if the sound it had made was anything to go by. Before he could reach Stanley though, his brother gave a yelp as his journal spontaneously burst in burst into flames. Stanley dropped the book and groaned as they watched it become reduced to ashes and honestly; Stanford could understand his brother’s distress. That was a lot of adventures and the information they revealed lost, it was a good thing Stanley’s memory was so good, he’d probably be able to re-record everything but even then that was a lot of writing. Stanford approached his brother’s forlorn and exhausted figure as the flames died.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s okay, I’d rather us be alive than have it anyway.” They watched as a few pages that that somehow remained untouched by the flame blew away deeper into the woods. Both were too tired to go after them.

“Any explanation for that?”  
“Nope.”

“Fair enough. How’s your foot.”

“Broken I think.”

“Thought it might be, that was a nasty sounding crack.” He moved from standing across from his brother to next to him.

“Here, lean on me.” Stanley seemed to want to protest but thought better of it, and slung his arm around Stanford’s shoulder, using him as a crutch as Stanford pulled out a compass he had brought with him and they slowly began to walk in the direction of home.

“So… a man made of ink that kidnaps children. How do you guess that happens?”

“I’m not sure. Could be some kind of witchcraft.” Stanley let out a hiss of pain as he stumbled over a rock, and tightened his arm around Stanford. When had he developed all this muscle, his brother was almost strangling him?

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe someone cursed a book and the monster came out. Honestly man, I’ve got no clue and for once I don’t really care, I just never want to see a thing like that again.”

“I feel ya on that one. Gonna log this one?”

“Guess I should once I get a new journal.”

“Seriously let me buy you one, you deserve it.”

“Yeah yeah okay, but you saved my ass too.”

“I hit it with a stick Lee.” There was a short pause before the two broke out into sidesplitting laughter overwhelmed suddenly with the relief of being alive and the sheer horrifying absurdity of the whole situation.   
“ I can’t believe you did that,” Stanley confessed after they finally caught their breath.

“Me neither.” They continued to make to make their way slowly down the rediscovered path when Stanford remembered something.

“Hey, what about all the missing kids?”

“I don’t know, it might have dissolved them like it tried to do to me-”

“How did that feel?” Stanford interrupted.  
“Like my whole body suddenly fell asleep. Or they might just reappear. All I know is that if they _can_ be found they will.” A few moments of silence.

“What should we call it?”

“I don’t know. Ink Monster?”

“Lee that’s boring _and_ stupid.”  
“I know I’m just not exactly in the mood Stan.”

“Oh come on” Stanford huffed, “it can’t be that hard just try anything. It’s tall dark , dark, and slender we can do something with that.”

“I don’t know. How about…Slenderman?”

“Seriously?”

“You pushed so that’s what you got.”

“You are off your game tonight bro.”

“Yeah” Stanley grunted as he hobbled along, “don’t remind me.” They finally reached the end of the path, emerging from the shadow of the forest into the early dawn, battered but grateful to be alive and whole. They were also quite startled to find a row of children of differing ages all lying side by side along the tree line. After a glance at one another they made their way over to the nearest few.

“Oh my gosh!” Stanford exclaimed peering at the face of a bond haired girl who seemed no older than ten, “This one’s Sarah Carmichael’s sister!”

“I’ve seen this on one of the posters!”  
“They’re all breathing! They’re all alive!” Stanley smiled his rare uninhibited beaming smile and Stanford finally knew what he wanted to say to him.

“Look, I was trying to say this earlier and I’m gonna say it now before we get attacked by some other thing. I genuinely miss hanging out with you of doing all the stuff we used to do together. Even this…” he gestured at the scene around them “stuff. I’m sorry I forgot to remember you and next time I go out with the group I’d really like you to come with us they’d love you. We good?” Stanley, who already had an arm around Stanford’s shoulders, used it to pull his brother into a one armed hug.

“We’re cool.”

“What is this a hug?”

“No.” and suddenly the arm was squeezing around his neck, “It’s a chokehold.”

“Ha ha. I could just drop you.”

“No you won’t.”

“Can it Poindexter.” They smiled at one another and Stanford felt more settled than he had in months. Then, looking down, he realized something.

“Hey Lee?”

“Yeah Stan?”  
“How are we going to explain how we found these kids?” A pause.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“I was afraid you we’re going to say that.”

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Age 21-?

_Around her neck was a narrow black velvet ribbon with the ends falling down her back._

_When her wooer turned from her she rested her arms against the mantel-shelf and bowed her face in her hands. On the threshold he paused to look at her; then he stole back, lifted one of the ends of velvet ribbon, kissed it, and left the room without her hearing him or changing her attitude. And on this silent parting the curtain fell._

_-Edith Wharton_

_The Age of Innocence_

 

The shadowed objects on the side of the road zoomed past in a blur of shadow as the vehicle sped on into the night. Each outline became streaks of movement in a constant race of shadow chasing shadow, an endless infinite loop until it became unclear who was chasing who, the whole drama lit with the silvery and insubstantial light of the moon. As he gazed out on the tumbling chaos only he, in that moment of suspended time could see, Fiddleford found the dramatic scene appropriate because, after all, was he not doing the same? Was he not chasing the shadows that haunted him? He shifted slightly where he sat in the handyman’s pick up truck, trying to find a more comfortable position as improbable as that seemed, squished as he was between the two Pines twins. The group that had miraculously stumbled their way out of the museum no worse for wear and offered to drive him home, or at least, the pile of garbage he had tried to make assemble something _like_ a home. The girl, Mabel, with her braces and expressive eyes that always seemed impossibly wide, had been surprisingly quiet during the ride, respecting the gravity of what had been revealed in that cavern of lost thoughts and only lightly leaning against him alternating between watching his face and reading the page of Dipper’s (no it had a different owner) journal he was currently studying. The boy had kindly let him examine the whole thing, obviously wanting to see if it caused him to remember anything more, but had also noticed the way Fiddleford’s hands had shaken when holding the book, and though neither of them understood why that was, Dipper seemed to understand something Fiddleford had not, and had yet to ask for the journal back.

He ran one hand, ever so gently, down the aged page of the old journal, and discreetly inhaled the familiar (Was it familiar? Yes it was!) scent of aged paper with just a hint of pine needles and that something else smell that all books have which is too buried and distant to be named but that is unique to each. He wasn’t quite sure how the journal made him feel, it was all such a tangled mess in his already messed up mind, and he couldn’t remember what was causing the emotions in the first place, which would have been maddening if he wasn’t already as mad as a hatter! It was like trying to unsolve a complicated math equation with only the solution and no formula, or trying to understand the plot of a muted movie in rewind; complicated, dizzying, and weighted with hopelessness.

However, despite all of this, Fiddleford couldn’t help but feel a kind of warmth with the knowledge that he hadn’t always been-well- a mess and honestly he was still blown away that the group he was with had worked so hard to help him. It had been so long since someone had looked at him and seen someone other than the silly town cook- at least- he thought it was, that he was a little uncertain how to receive the attention. He had once been brilliant and full of ideas and knowledge and hope! He had once worked with the man who had written the journal he held in his hands, so full of wonder and adventure, and felt perhaps he had once been the same. This was going to be hard and painful, trying to remember the horrible Thing he had so desperately wanted to forget but he would, he didn’t know why but he felt he owed it to the Author. He had worked with him, supported him, and had the strong suspicion that they had been friends if the tenderness he felt towards the journal was anything to go by. Fiddleford was waking up and with the waking world came illumination. He would remember the man’s name, and he would remember what he had once dared not to. He would remember why he felt like he owed the man, and why even the thought of his existence made his chest ache.

……..

 

_Fiddleford Hadron McGuckett had liked to think himself a smart man who enjoyed the simple things, and having grown up in a small town normally surrounded by dense nature and simple folk it only made sense to believe that the stillness of a quiet life would make him feel most at home. He had liked to think that all he needed was the heavy blanket of a sunny Sunday afternoon with his ears filled with the whispering rustle of the women’s’ freshly washed and pressed Sunday best to feel peaceful. He had liked to think that the life he grew up in suited him and that he could appreciate all it offered him. However, if there was anything to be said about Fiddleford at all, it was that he_ liked _to think lots of things, but that didn’t mean any of them were true._

_His childhood, when he thought about it, was a series of snapshots in his minds eye. In the photo album of his memory he would flip through the worn pages containing crinkled recollections of dusty roads, loud southern lilted voices with words as set as the thoughts they conveyed, shop windows gleaming in the sun, a sepia toned room furnished sparsely but neatly with a radio crackling in the corner, the bare white walls of the church, crows feet around men’s eyes, broken nails, and the smell of stagnant pond water. He could see the faded frown of his hard-faced father, and the lines on the forehead of his full-cheeked mother like he could see their white-washed house on a hill with rooms that were suffocating in the summer heat. He could smell the old pages of books on everything and anything with all their treasured words, buried like pirates gold under the floorboards of his room, shaking the foundations of his home with tremors only he could feel, hidden from his father for Fiddleford to later pull out in the encompassing velvet of night and listen to the whispering voices that rattled his head with knowledge. He could feel the spines of an endless supply of books running beneath his fingers as he took slow, measured steps through the bookshelves of the town library, hushed and reverent as though he were walking on sacred ground and he remembered the gentle lulling voice that kept and cared for them. He had wanted to bury himself in that place, with nothing but time and pages and silence._

_It was better than the screams the books caused at home._

......

 

The day he had met the Pines brothers had been, until the meeting, entirely unremarkable. Gravity Falls, Oregon had been quiet, the forest looming, and the lake occasionally disturbed with unexplained ripples as it always was, and was the sort of day that surely would have slipped right out of thirty year old Fiddleford’s mind quite on its own, if not for the fact that his life was about to change.

Fiddleford’s younger neighbor Susan had been watching his young son as she often kindly did while Fiddleford was at work. He had been taken on in the small town as local handyman and librarian on the side that invented in his spare time ( if he ever found a name for what he was he would let the rest of the town know). Sure it was below his degree, but there was something about the town that intrigued him, something that made his intentions She was a simple but head-strong woman who had just opened a new diner in town and was doing rather well but she kept her own hours and was a friendly soul, so when she had caught wind of Fiddleford having to take his son along with him all day from building to house, unable to find anyone to watch the boy she had almost immediately and firmly offered for Fiddleford to leave him with her at the diner to help her and would then take him home with her if it was a late night for his father. Fiddleford at been embarrassed at first, concluding that that she must have felt like he couldn’t take care of his son but she had given him a stern but surprisingly matronly look and said only that she didn’t mind and she was fond of the both of them. Neighbors watch out for each other, she had argued had pointed out that being dragged around would make the boy feel like a burden, and Fiddleford hadn’t been able to argue further. She had been a blessing to have available after his wife had finally packed her bags and left their long failed relationship with hardly a word. He didn’t blame her, although he had been angry at her on behalf of his son for just leaving the boy behind, but it would have been harder for her to live as a single mother in society than it would be for him to live as a single father, and with that though he felt the weight of age he lived in settle more heavily on his shoulders.

Fiddleford had just finished fixing up some of the car engines in the vehicles Howard Gleeful was selling when he was startled by the sound of tires screeching on the road and a cloud of smoke, dust, and gravel filling his vision and nose, causing him to cough and wheeze. He heard the sound of car doors slam and a gruff voice rise over the commotion.

“Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Crap- Goddamn it!”

“Stanford calm the hell down and try to smother it!”

“I can’t see anything-gah we’re gonna die!”

“Oh my god why are you such a drama queen!?!”

They were going to get _him_ killed as well if they didn’t put out the fire that seemed to be emanating from the engine of their car, whoever _they_ were and Fiddleford was just _not_ in the mood for this right now. Luckily, he knew where a nearby fire extinguisher was (it was a car dealership obviously there would be one handy), and quickly used it to douse the fire.

            When everything had calmed down and the dust had literally finally settled, Fiddleford was able to see the two figures now staring at him in varying degrees of awe and embarrassment. They were obviously twins, both looking almost identical to the other with minor differences. Where one was buff the other was simply well toned, where one had glasses the other did not, and the way they held themselves differed, with one trying to look menacing and the other settling to observe. They both seemed at a loss at what to say so Fiddleford broke the silence that had settled like the dust.

“Y’all need to learn how to deal with somethin’ like that without putting yourselves and anyone else around (there he gave them both a pointed look) in danger. Carry a fire extinguisher if you have to but for heavens sake have some kind of plan.” Honestly, this was the tone he used with his son and these were grown _men_.

The muscular one gave what could only be described as a guffaw and exclaimed ( _he_ was the one with the gruff voice then) “Ha! What about that? We finally found a situation you don’t have a million step plan for poindexter!” The one with glasses shot a glare at his brother that told Fiddleford that this tease was a familiar one to the man and turned back to Fiddleford and adopting a slightly sheepish expression. “I’m sorry about that, we got lost about half an hour back and almost drove off a cliff, we’re still a little shaken, usually something like this is no big deal, but we’re lucky you were around.”

            His voice was deep and soft around the edges. It was the voice of someone who used the sound as a tool to interact with the world around them and no more. It was the voice of an observer, of someone accustomed to the quiet places in the world and the loud places of the mind, and Fiddleford immediately found in it a kindred spirit. He also noticed the way the buff one seemed to instantly take stock of his surrounding, looking for threats and sensing the atmosphere of the interaction and adjusting with minute but precise movement.

Okay so maybe they weren’t idiots.

“Where y’all headed?” he asked with now genuine curiosity.

“Gravity Falls,” glasses answered. “I know we can’t be too far, the cliff we got…acquainted with overlooks it I think.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about much more driving. You’re about ten minutes away from downtown.”

Both men gave him the same startled look, making them look like exact reflections of each other.

“Really?” glasses seemed shocked.

“Yeah! Finally free from that death trap!” the buff one pumped a fist into the air. “Told you I knew how to navigate Lee!”

“Cliff -Ford okay? Cliff. And it’s only a death trap when _you_ drive.”

“What are you lookin for all the way out here? There’s not much unless you were lookin to live in the wilderness cause we got plenty of that.” Fiddleford asked, interrupting bickering he was sure would have gone on for a while without outside intervention.

Oh man they were best friends as well as brothers weren’t they?

            They shot a look a one another, an intimate and silent conversation happening as they did so. Yup, they were inseparable.

“I’m… here to study the wildlife.” It was plausible but Fiddleford wasn’t buying it, and while he wasn’t normally one to pry, Glasses’ voice and a feeling he couldn’t name made him press on.

“Nothin here you couldn’t find in most of Oregon.” He paused a moment, “Unless of course you’re talking about our certain _brand_ of wildlife. It’s quite unique from what I’ve been able to gather.”

            Glasses’ face lit up like the sun from behind his previously guarded expression and the buff ones mouth dropped.

“You know?! Oh my gosh-I wasn’t sure if the locals would be aware or open with it to outsiders! What have you seen? I’ve heard there have been gnome sightings! Have you seen any? Are they real? Have you seen the gravity anomalies?” The questions spilled out of the man’s mouth at a rapid speed, and his whole body was tense as though he was making a conscious effort to not start jumping up and down. “I’ve moved here to study all the occurrences I’ve heard about and hopefully a ton I haven’t heard about. That no one has heard about! I’m trying to find a shack on what I think if the edge of town. Do you know how to get there? That’s where I want to set up my lab. Any advice? Are there certain materials I shouldn’t use or-?”

“Jesus Lee, give the guy a chance to answer you.” Buff interrupted with a fond smirk and an exasperated tone and turned to face Fiddleford. “He gets like this when he’s excited. If you’re not that into this”, he made a vague hand gesture, “fairy tale junk better tell him now.” At that Glasses crossed his arms and huffed, a slight blush staining his cheeks and showing off previously unseen freckles that a bit adorable and- focus Fiddleford. He could also hear the unspoken warning in Buffs tone that said _“mock him and I’ll mess you up”_ and felt both fondness at the protectiveness the man towards his brother and a small bit of panic due to how large the guys arms were and the awareness of how the man could snap him in half like a twig.

“Oh no, we’re all aware of the oddness here. Kinda hard to miss if I’m honest, just last week Jake Barton’s truck got grabbed by what looked like a giant tentacle from the woods. I’ve got a degree in engineering but I’m a bit of a scientist myself. I mostly do my research on the side.” Fiddleford ducked his head slightly embarrassed. “It’s mostly a hobby really, but I know where it is you’re looing for and if you’re serious about it all I’d be happy to help.” He looked back up. “Not too many late hours though, I got a kid to get home to.”

“Ugh more college nerds.” Buff folded his arms and rolled his eyes, but there was approval in his voice. Glasses grinned wide and it was beautiful. “Excellent I can’t wait!”

Then he caught himself and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Oh man, I just roped you in and I didn’t even ask you’re name.”

“Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGuckett.”

“He’s Stanford and I’m Stanley Pines.”

The smile was wonderful and Fiddleford tried to keep himself from running his hands down his face . This was going to be an adventure whether he wanted one or not (and lets face it, he did).

……

 

_It had been his safe place, the library, filled with silence and knowledge, where books could shake as hard as they could but the building never trembled, built as it was to withstand such things. It was a place where he was never mocked for being a sissy because he would rather read instead of roughing around with the other boys his age, where he didn’t have to try to navigate the world without his glasses for fear of them being broken by his childhood tormentors (he learned after the fifth time), and it was that place that had held his favorite person. The photo of this memory was faded now but the impression of soft hazel eyes, light blond hair, a voice like the smoothness or a freshly printed page, and the knowledge that this man would always support him where he was discouraged remained._

_Yes, the library had been his sanctuary, so the day it, and the librarian were wrenched from him in a blaze of fire and hate (that day he understood what the word ‘homosexual’ meant from blood and ash and the screaming mouth of the mob that had raided the building in the night) was the most devastating thing that had ever happened to him. It didn’t help that after the event, he realized he had adored the man in his sanctuary of books for another reason besides being support in his oppressive life._

_Fiddleford knew what a crush was after all._

_That had been the day he truly invested in building his walls, they were the only refuge he could trust to remain._

……

            That had been the beginning of a new chapter in Fiddleford’s life filled with study, not too many late nights, and the two best friends he had ever gained and would ever have. It was a time of seeing who could grow the biggest beard in two weeks and beating Stanford staggeringly. It was a time of chasing gnomes through the forest, trying to reclaim the loaf of banana bread Susan had baked them. It was a time when Stanford’s girlfriend Carla visited often from where she lived in Portland, and happily taught his son to play poker with Stanford. It was a time where Fiddleford felt, for the first time, like he had a family he belonged in.

Stanley had just graduated with his BA in library sciences and soon found a part time job at the library to keep up on payments for the shack in the woods he had bought (really it was all a crazy plan Fiddleford had thought as they had pulled up to the thing on the day of the twins arrival) and to keep the equipment they used up to date.

            Stanford had been a door-to-door salesman before joining his brother for Oregon and had found employment, surprisingly enough with Howard at the car dealership.

_“My son’s on one of those ‘cross-country soul-searching bullshit trips. If you want to work and sell enough cars, the job’s yours”._

Stan was frighteningly good at it.

            Fiddleford himself kept mostly to his normal routine, but now with something extraordinary to look forward to every day. There was always something to research or discover. Something to build or dissect and it was a thrilling change from the previous monotony Fiddleford’s life had become.

            Stanley was a genius, there was no doubt about it. The man could plan and make connections that left even Fiddleford in the dust, though Stanford seemed used to just ignoring all the endless observations and revelations that popped out of his brothers head Often you would find Stanley and Fiddleford hunched together over a new specimen or blueprints for some new invention furiously scribbling notes and holding low murmured discussions that could last for hours on end.

It was Stanford that reminded the both of them to eat, sleep, and bathe. It was Stanford who would make them breakfast, and bring Stanley his glasses when he started squinting in an attempt to read without them. It was Stanford that would tease and mess with them when they were-going-to-become-glued-to-their-chairs-you’ve-been-looking-at-that- _forever_ -nerds-let’s-go-on-a-hike. Honestly, Stanford was the biggest mother hen Fiddleford had ever seen and if it was a day Fiddleford was feeling particularly feisty he would tease Stanford back about it.

“He’s not wrong Ford, even our mother wasn’t this bad.” Stanley once snorted.

“ _She_ didn’t know how bad you get when you’re researching your _nerd_ stuff dork.”

            It was fiery, strong-willed Carla who would take care of Stanford when Stanley couldn’t or just didn’t know there was a problem. When Stanford got worked up into a rage over something, or when he became restless during the long hours of research he could not substantially contribute to. It was during those times, Fiddleford knew Stanford would be in good hands. She was good for Sanford and he was good for her. It wasn’t often Fiddleford got to see a couple he knew without a doubt should, and probably would live their lives together and achieve a harmony in their relationship that most could only dream about.

            Sometimes, though, it would just be Stanford and Stanley. Ford and Lee. They had a connection that made Fiddleford, who in all his years as an only child had never before     desired otherwise, wish that he had a sibling. They held long conversations by sharing a look. They were in tune with one another in a way that spoke of a lifetime together. The way that Stanford would refill Stanley’s coffee mug during the late nights, how Stanley would always have a towel, hot water, and an ice pack ready when Stanford got back from boxing, how they could tell the mood of the other by the tilt of a head, and so many other things that amazed Fiddleford. It was fascinating to watch, but other times, he had to admit, the moments left him feeling a little lonely, because although these men had welcomed him into their life and home with gusto, he could never know them like they knew each other.

            It was with this knowledge and understanding that he sat with Stanford out on the back porch of the shack the brothers now lived one day in the fall about two years after the twins’ arrival (research had only just picked up as the first year had mostly been 99% trying to make sure the shack would stay standing).

“Sometimes I think I should just leave Ferds”. Well that had been out of nowhere.

“For goodness sake Stanford why would you say a thing like that? Stanley and I would miss you like a limb if you were gone.” Stanford huffed a sigh that seemed a cross between amused and angry.

“I bet you guys would barely notice, I mean, I can’t help you with all you’re nerd stuff. I’m mostly in the way really- that is- I should hit the open road and go on some _real_ adventures.” Ah, so that was what this was about. Stanley continued to speak in the rambling way he did when he was feeling agitated or aggressive, “ I mean you both went to your stupid colleges and studied god knows what, and that works for this kind of stuff but I didn’t do that and it just seems like this stuff isn’t anything I can really contribute to and I feel like I’m just standing around without anything _real_ to say or do and-“

“Stanford you are _not_ in the way.” Fiddleford interrupted before Stanford could work himself into a tizzy. “You, well, you take care of us and remember that gremoblin you gave a fine left hook to when it tried to bite Stanley’s hand?”

“Heck yeah, ugly pile of moss!”

“Then don’t feel like you need to leave.” Fiddleford smiled the quiet and friendly smile of someone being honest. “You _are_ helpful in ways we need. We need _you_ , the way you think, is not like the way we think. You’re smart Stanford don’t you think our different paths in life make you think otherwise, we just honed our way of thinking. You see things differently than we do and that makes all the difference. I know Stanley would really feel your absence and so would I.” He turned away again and looked into the tree line of the thick woods they could see only a few yards away. “If you’re sick of us though, and this is something you feel like you need to do, then know I hope you stay safe. Come visit us too okay?”

            Fiddleford wasn’t looking so he missed Stanford’s brilliant smile and the slight shine that came to his eyes, but he could still hear him and what he heard was;

“Can’t get rid of me that easily nerd. Plus Carla would kill me if I started moving far and wide all willy-nilly after I just got here.”

……

            _The years Fiddleford went to college were the most terrifying and amazing years of his life he had experience to that point. He was away from his smothering small town and his smothering parents (he would never be welcomed back but he was beyond caring now, that place had never been home) , and although the campus and surround town weren’t huge, he felt like he had all the room in the world. This was a place where learning was the_ point _of the experience!_

_He had to re-train himself to not hide how much he knew to try to fit in. To ask as many questions as he could and then ask more, He would never forget the time one of his classmates asked him to join in their study circle and had responded cleverly with something like, “You study in groups?”_

_They gave him information at his fingertips and he grabbed all that he could eagerly and hungrily, and really discovered who he was under the masks he wore back home, now he was in this place that allowed him to take them off. He still didn’t tell anyone about the way he loved though. That fear was still too deeply rooted inside of him, still to sharp, and there was no guarantee that most people (because there were some who would have been kind) would accept that of him._

_Being able to explore everything else made it bearable for him to bury that part of himself low and deep and he busied himself with his work._

_(But sometimes in the evenings or early morning, he would go to the school library, run his fingers across the spines of the shelved book, breath deeply, close his eyes, and remember.)_

_….._

            One day saw Fiddleford playing his banjo in what had become the living room of the shack with his son by his side (they had so often asked in that early days that Fiddleford bring him that it was now simply the way of things to have the kid somewhere around the house) and Stanley on the couch, watching Stanford and Carla to an impromptu jig to the tune he strummed. The warmth he felt was still not one he was used to but now connected with the group of people around him. It was a feeling he had felt in relation to his son but could now feel all around him and had come to identify simply as ‘family’.

            That evening as he packed up his instrument and started to put a coat on his son the boy had protested, “But I don’t wanna go yet I wanna dance with Uncle Stanford!” Fiddleford had sputtered a few times while Stanley, after a moment, broke into laughter, and Stanford blinked at the child.

“Well”, he began after a moment and ruffled the hair on the kids head with a fond smirk on his face, “never been an uncle before and at the rate poindexter seems to be going don’t think I’m ever gonna get there.”

“Hey!”

Fiddleford’s stomach dropped, because as Stanford had said this, his eyes had flicked to Fiddleford in that knowing way they sometimes did. _He knew_.

“How bout it Fids, one more dance won’t hurt anyone?”

The rest of the night was a blur of one more song, and the drive home, and the sleepless night that followed. Stanford knew, and Fiddleford could only agonize over the dread that now he would be excluded from this family he had found, that Stanford hated him. Logically he knew that if this were true the evening, and possibly time long before this, would have gone very differently, but a lifetime of fear is hard to unlearn in one night.

However, the next day Stanford treated him with the same abrasive tenderness he always had, and not only did the knot of worry in his chest untangle, he felt lighter than he had in-in years. Stanford knew and that was okay.

He was accepted here.

 

There must come a day, however, when the rock of the group is shaken and needs a rock themselves, for life comes for us all and the people we surround ourselves with determine how we will navigate it when it does.

It was around midnight, when the phone rang. Fiddleford had been at the shack for one of his late nights (Susan would watch his son and put him to bed those days and she never stopped being a miracle) studying what appeared to be a magic amulet with Stanley and had answered to let Stanley finish taking notes in the second journal he was filling out (he had already finished a first one and it seemed to be trending).

“Hello this is the Pines residence this is Fiddleford speaking.”

“Fiddleford, it’s Stanford, get me Stanley.” His voice sounded gruffer that normal but if he was too tipsy to walk home again…

“Stanford can it wait a minute? We’re right in the middle of something-“

“Please.” Stanford interrupted _him_ for once. “Just-just tell him will-o-the-wisps okay?”

The event of Stanford saying ‘please’ made Fiddleford obey without another thought. This was serious.

            That became even more apparent after he repeated the phrase to Stanley. The man’s face when from deep concentration to determination and concern in less than a second and had grabbed the phone from Fiddleford’s hand.

“What’s going on Stanford, are you okay?” It was the first time outside of an argument that Fiddleford had heard Stanley use his brother’s full name.

“What do you mean you drove-?” His eyes widened and became hard for a moment. They were angry, in the cold sort of way that if much more frightening than a red face and a raised voice could ever be.

“I’m on my way, just don’t do anything else.” Stanley hung up the phone and glanced at Fiddleford. His eyes thawed enough that Fiddleford didn’t feel as weary but he was still trying to navigate this side of Stanley he had never seen.

“Stanford okay? What was that phrase for?”

“He’s not hurt, just in jail. I’ve got to go pay his bail.” Fiddleford blinked. Sure Stanford was hot headed but he’d not done something that stupid as long as Fiddleford had known him, which was pushing four years and wasn’t he visiting Carla this weekend? “And the phrase was something we came up with when we were kids. It’s like a personal SOS for an emergency.”

“What happened?”

“He-“ Stanley sighed, “he crashed a guys car into a ditch. I’ve got to go drive to Portland to get him but I don’t have a car since Ford took it to get there…”

“Take my truck. I know it’s not the best but it should get you there. I’ll go ahead and close up shop.” Stanley gave him a tired smile at that.

“Thanks Fids I appreciate it” He turned to leave and Fiddleford called after him.

“Y’all stay safe now!”

            He didn’t see Stanford for a few days, and after the first few times of Stanley meeting his inquisitive gaze with and sad sigh and a shake of his head, Fiddleford dropped it. That didn’t stop him the third day after the phone call, when he finally saw Stanford out on the back porch watching the evening sky, from grabbing a few beers and joining him.

“So what happened with Carla?” there was no way this conversation wouldn’t begin awkwardly so he was going to cut to the chase.

“who said anything had to do with her?” came the short reply, after another swig of beer.

Fiddleford smiled sadly and looked into the distance and replied “I was in a failed marriage for several years Stanford. I know when it’s about a woman.” It had ended horribly and had been unfair to the both of them but he got his son out of it and he would NEVER regret anything that led to him.

            They sat in silence for a bit longer before Stanford broke it.

“She left me.”

“Huh?” The confusion in his tone must have sounded as earnest as he meant it to be because Stanford didn’t get angry, only sighed.

“She left me for some…some… _hippy._ I guess she wasn’t happy or I did something wrong or that _freak_ hypnotized her somehow but-“ he paused and took another swig. “ She jumped straight into his arms, so I crashed his car into a ravine. That’s why I was in jail.”

Fiddleford processed this and said nothing, thinking to himself that Carla had thrown something rare away. She wouldn’t find another relationship like the one she had so carelessly left and that was going to haunt her for the rest of her life.

“You’re never going to have a thing with Lee you know.” As soon as the words left Stanford’s mouth Fiddleford felt his face shut down into the most guarded expression he had and Stanford must have seen it because he quickly added “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that- damn I shouldn’t talk when I’m drunk.” He ran a hand down his face. “To be honest Fiddleford if my brother swung that way I’d love to have you for a brother in law, but he’s oblivious and now he’s dating Alma and I don’t-“ he took a breath. “I don’t want you to feel this- what I’m feeling, because it’s all you’ll get from that.”

            Fiddleford melted and wrapped an arm around Stanford’s broad shoulders as best he could. “There’s lots of different ways to love someone and I knew nothing would ever- I mean you always hope but- well I know when it’s just a dream. Don’t you worry about me.” He looked Stanford in the eyes, “Don’t let this stop that big ol heart of yours from lovin you hear? That’s what it was made for.” Stanford dropped his gaze.

“I’m not okay yet. I don’t know how okay I’ll ever be after this I mean- I was gonna propose to her…” Fiddleford gripped a little tighter “but I’ll try Fids.”

“Hey Fids.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay right?”

“Course, we’ve all got each other.”

And the two sat in the sweet summer twilight with the bitter thoughts of knowing they could never have the one they wanted most.

….

            Time passed, research was made, Fiddleford’s son continued to grow, wounds scarred over, and wedding bells rand for Stanley. Life went on, and it wasn’t easy but it was fulfilling and Fiddleford wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

            Then came the day not long after his honeymoon ended , that Stanley found the cave. The cave with the drawings of a triangle and a spell.

The chapter ended.

_Enter Bill Cipher._

 

              



End file.
